The head cow-puncher knew very well that this was a dangerous thing to do for if the fire ever jumped the creek and caught the tall trees on the steep slopes the forest would prove a veritable fire trap, but it was the only chance so they shouted and waved their camp blankets at the cattle until they got them started across Crooked Creek. And none too soon for when the last head had crossed the river the cow-punchers themselves had to ride for their lives to escape the flames.
But the fire did its work very quickly and in two hours from the time it was first discovered it had spent its fury and only a smoldering ember here and there told of how fiercely the flames had burned an hour before. As soon as the earth would permit of the passage of cattle over it the two thousand head on the side of the mountain were driven back over Crooked Creek and headed for Piñon Valley and thence to the upper plateau. It was sundown when the parada of the Crooked Creek ranch had finally been made secure.
A madder set of cow-punchers than Hank Brodie's men could hardly have been found in Wyoming as they came in. Their expletives against Fritz Ganzer and his family were picturesque and wholly outside the domain of print.
Immediately after supper the cow-punchers saddled their broncs and started to interview the German. Hank insisted that they leave their guns behind and
